


That Others May Live

by Domenika Marzione (domarzione)



Series: Recursive [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky's neither the Winter Soldier nor okay, Gen, POV Sam Wilson, PTSD, Sam's day job and his side job sometimes have a lot of overlap, Team as Family, Thor is an alien prince and not an idiot, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:59:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domarzione/pseuds/Domenika%20Marzione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was prepared to help Steve bring Bucky Barnes in from the cold, but this is not exactly how he'd figured on it going down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Others May Live

**Author's Note:**

> This is a timestamp/POV shift for the end of [_Recursive_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1547360). It is possible to read this without having read the original story, but it's probably more fun if you do that first. ;) 
> 
> Needless to say, this is spoilery as heck.

Sam was in his office at the Bronx VA, the barred-window broom closet he shared with two other case worker-types, when his phone rang. He was finishing up the paperwork on his morning's files before getting ready to go downtown to Harbor for an afternoon of getting yelled at and cried upon because even folks who'd gotten used to Tricare's quirks were often outraged and frustrated by what the VA considered fair treatment of its constituency. He was officially part of the problem, drawing a paycheck from an agency that seemed to intentionally not give a fuck at all the wrong moments, but he spent his blood, sweat, and tears trying to be part of the solution. Even if all he could do was let someone vent at him for being powerless to stop their family's fears and pain.

"Hey, man, you free?"

Sam could tell from the tone of voice that Clint wasn't asking if he wanted to grab a beer somewhere far away from the Tower, but he didn't know the man well enough to guess what was really being asked instead. Clint wasn't intentionally opaque the way Natasha was, but he was also still closer to Steve than Thor on the 'I will suffer in silence before I show weakness and ask for help' meter.

"Depends," he answered honestly. "If it's urgent, yeah. Otherwise, I got work 'til five-thirtyish."

If it was internal Avengers bullshit, then it could keep until he was done tending to his clients. The Tower was one part BEQ and one part soap opera set and one part MTV reality show set and one part the most amazing and surreal and wonderful thing ever, but that still meant it was three-quarters insanity. If it was HYDRA pulling shit because they could -- Captain America's very public disappearance had rattled good people around the country and the world, but it had also energized HYDRA and every other bad guy with delusions of world conquest -- then tending to those clients might include getting coverage for his sessions so he could go save the world. But his little Avengers alarm hadn't gone off (it was an app on his phone, designed by Tony), so the answer was probably somewhere in between.

A vague noise from Clint. "It's not urgent-urgent," he said. "Steve turned up."

"Really?" Sam didn't hide his surprise, bemused that the return of Captain America wasn't classified as urgent. But he supposed it wasn't so long as Steve wasn't hovering in mid-air or bleeding out. "That was fast."

Doctor Strange -- and how was that for a name predetermining a lifestyle -- had told them only yesterday that he believed Steve to have been transported back in time and not killed in action, blasted into oblivion by Namor's amulet. Which Strange had apparently used to 'find' Steve, although he couldn't use it to go get him or bring him back. (Whether he could or could not was not unrelated to whether anyone would let him -- there was a chance that he'd turned up to take the amulet and use it better than Namor had.) Strange had been a mix of kooky academic and carnival mystic and it would have been easy to blow him off as the kind of ambulance-chasing "medium" who took advantage of credulous families in distress; Sam certainly had once Strange had turned up and promised answers about Steve. But Strange had also had the sort of professional arrogance and competence that Sam had identified as 'surgeon' before he'd learned of Strange's medical past, a man who took what he did seriously and expected you to, too, even if everything that came out of his mouth sounded like so much hokum. Which didn't mean squat -- Sam had met plenty of surgeons he wouldn't trust to take out a splinter -- but enough of what he'd said had jibed with what Thor had said and what Namor was telling SHIELD, who'd taken custody of him, that even Tony had stopped fighting giving Strange a listening-to. What Strange had said was that Steve would return, although he wouldn't make so much as make a guess on how long that would take. It had been a very frustrating afternoon, full of vague promises and just plain vagueness, unsatisfying and more than a little ridiculous and desperate. But they _had_ been desperate -- Captain America had disappeared in a flash of light in front of hundreds of soldiers four months after HYDRA had nearly gotten away with assassinating him. The Avengers wanted him back -- the world _needed_ him back. And now, apparently, he was.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, still sounding off. Sam could understand it if it was just the circumstances that were weirding Clint out, but...

"What is it?" Sam prompted, getting worried. "You are not sounding overjoyed."

A sigh was Clint's immediate answer. "He didn't come back alone," Clint said and now Sam recognized the tone as wariness. "He turned up at his old crash site and the SHIELD people who monitor it only had numbers for the Triskelion, so when none of those worked, they called Stark Industries. They reported the return of Captain America, in his uniform, along with another man. Whose left hand is metal."

Oh.

"It's Barnes?" Sam asked, since while Strange had said that it was possible -- probable, even -- that Steve had gone back to his own time, there was also a chance Steve had gone into the future or to another galaxy or whatever.

"It's Barnes," Clint confirmed. "They sent us pictures. He's wearing the peacoat and everything just like in the history books. There's nobody on-site to take the coat off, so all they saw was the hand and wrist and those are metal."

"What kind of shape are they in? Are they conscious? Are they frozen?"

If Bucky Barnes had been any kind of threat, Clint would not have said it wasn't urgent-urgent, so Sam had to assume that he either wasn't conscious or wasn't a problem. Which, all considering, would be a blessing on multiple fronts.

The files had made it clear how much more than physical James Barnes's torture had been, the depth of which had been nauseating and the after-effects of which were possibly even more so. The search for him had taken all of that into account, as well as the fact that he had seemingly regained some of his sense of self -- or at least understood who he was supposed to have been. Steve had taken that as progress and it had been, but it had also been a complicating factor that made things worse in many ways, too. Steve sometimes hadn't wanted to understand that James Barnes getting his memories back was not an actual solution to anyone's problems, least of all James Barnes. Knowing who he was was good, but knowing what had been done to him and what he had done during that period, that was a heavy weight that no one man could bear alone and yet Barnes had been determined to do so, avoiding all attempts at contact, let alone reconciliation. Sam didn't know if Barnes had ever really understood that they hadn't been hunting him down to punish him or, worse, to use him as their own tool. Steve had always bridled at that, "Bucky would know I would never mean him harm," but Sam would always tell him that they didn't know if Barnes had anything more than a name to put on his face. 

None of them were pessimists by nature, however, and so they'd done whatever Steve had needed them to do to bring his friend in from the cold. Sam's role had been to do the sort of things he did now for his VA clients -- facilitate and coordinate what the medicos needed to do -- just without the bureaucratic bullshit that led to the crying and yelling. And so Sam had laid the groundwork for an extensive program of recovery, using his VA and DoD connections to find specialists who had experience dealing with at least some of the traumas James Barnes had suffered. But then Natasha had turned up two days ago looking shaken and worn and told them that Bucky Barnes -- and it had been Barnes at the end, not the Winter Soldier -- was dead. None of them had been sure whether or not to be grateful that Steve had disappeared without knowing, although they had all known that telling him upon his return would be heartbreakingly hard. But now it would be _complicated_.

"Out cold, not frozen," Clint answered and he sounded like he was maybe running somewhere. "Seem to be fine physically except for that. SHIELD's people are monitoring their vitals, but they seem to be stable. We're flying up now to get 'em before they do freeze, which is why I called. Thor's here, so we've got enough muscle to move them or, you know, if someone wakes up confused."

Clint probably meant Barnes, but there was no saying that Steve would be in any kind of lucid state when he woke.

"I'm gonna stay here, then," Sam replied, simultaneously proud of the adult decision he was making and really, really bummed out by it. He wanted to go, God yes, but he wasn't _needed_ there. He _was_ needed here. He'd chosen to stay with the VA when he'd accepted Tony's offer to join the Avengers and that meant keeping his commitments and keeping his job -- he ran off enough for things like dinosaurs and HYDRA bases that he was going to run out of vacation time if his supervisor didn't have a habit of giving him a pass if he was on the front page the next day. "I'll be back before you guys are."

He didn't finish work until almost 6:30, staying more than an hour late to untangle a rejected claim that had been turned down entirely because someone had entered the wrong codes in the EHR. They weren't obviously wrong, which was part of the problem; Sam recognized the error because he had to recertify his EMS training every two years and thus knew that you couldn't be treated for both conditions at the same time unless you had a couple of extra internal organs. When he finally clocked out, he decided to run back to the Tower because he hadn't had time during the day to so much as eat lunch, let alone work out. He returned at almost 8 because he'd taken the scenic route, wanting the time to consider what the hell they were going to do with James Barnes. Because it was obvious that "turn him over to SHIELD" was not going to be an option. Even if this was the 1945 vintage whom Steve had somehow rescued, they knew from Natasha's files that Barnes had already been through the first phases of torture and conditioning and had already killed more than once in HYDRA's service. So while his being with Steve -- and dressed in his Howling Commando gear -- was a good sign, that only went so far. He had still been a POW twice, a victim of extreme torture twice, and recovery from that was going to need more help than Sam had the training to offer -- to Barnes or to Steve. It was just as well that he hadn't thrown out his research; they were still going to need those names he'd pulled together and possibly the address of the private clinic in Putnam County for an inpatient treatment. And possibly more, none of which would be apparent until Barnes woke up.

The team called in around midnight, telling Sam that both men were slightly hypothermic and unconscious, but had no injuries save for some bruising and minor cuts and abrasions and their vitals were stable. Sam read the notes on the computer as they spoke, asking questions and occasionally giving directions and having Clint hold the video camera so he could take a look. Barnes was very likely the 1945 version -- his arm was still partially intact, consistent with the notes of the initial amputation being four centimeters above the flange. Tony had done a million scans on Barnes's prosthetic, but Sam wasn't the only one who let the engineering babble that resulted pass over him like a wave. 

Steve was in the uniform he'd fought in Houston with, but Barnes was in his Howling Commandos kit, including his dog tags, and it was the general consensus that Steve must have rescued him from the HYDRA base in Poland where he'd been kept.

"Probably not the day before they jumped through time, either," Natasha said, her voice tinny over the plane's comms. "His clothes fit his enhanced physique and they're relatively new and made of different material than what the SSR gave him the first time."

"HYDRA coulda put 'em on him," Clint pointed out, not being a part of the consensus. "A _Manchurian Candidate_ thing. Steve would've gone with it even if he smelled a rat. He'd know Bucky wasn't Bucky, but he'd take him anyway."

Sam wanted to argue, but knew he couldn't. "So we'll be careful with him until Steve can fill us in," he said instead. "Not gonna have to worry too much about OPSEC with a guy who's coming out of the 1940's."

A snort that had to be Tony. "I don't think that's our primary concern, Junior Bird."

"He's not the guy we fought," Sam pointed out firmly. "He's not the guy who died. Not yet and hopefully, maybe, not ever. We should be careful, but let's not go all _Homeland_ here. He's going to wake up confused and afraid and he might lash out, but that's not the same thing as him going full Winter Soldier."

None of them were pessimists, but all of them were realists. They had all been through too much in the last year to take anything on faith. But there was a danger of crushing James Barnes under the weight of expectations -- that he was damaged, that he was dangerous, that he was a war hero turned legend. And Sam knew that they had to accept the man they had on his own terms and not by what he had been or, worse, what he would become. 

"He will be most protective of Steve," Thor said and Sam had honestly forgotten he was along because he hadn't said anything. "They are brothers in all but blood and he would know, even were he playing us all the fool, that the surest way to prove his fidelity would be to protect the man most dear to him."

Sam knew he was missing something in the silence that followed -- there was a lot he missed as the new guy -- but he suspected it had to do with Loki. Sam didn't know the whole story, hadn't asked -- he and Thor hadn't really had many meaningful conversations yet and that was kind of a big load of freight to bring to the party. But he knew enough. 

"Why don't we start by assuming the best," he suggested. "That Steve rescued Sergeant Barnes and repatriated him and Barnes was well enough to resume Howling Commando activities. We can prepare for the worst, but let's not use Occam's razor to cut off something important, hunh?"

Sam was in his pajamas when the plane landed two hours later, pulling on a pair of flip-flops to meet the team in the medical suite, where both Steve and Barnes had been brought in on stretchers. He tried to shoo everyone out, which he knew was a doomed strategy, but settled for having everyone stay out of the way as he worked. There wasn't much to be done except set up the monitors, clean up the gash on Barnes's cheek, and update Steve's file and start one on Barnes, James B. using only the relevant material from Natasha's file plus everything the SSR/SHIELD files had had on Barnes. He'd been a well-documented case because of his first captivity and torture, which Sam didn't want to become the dominant theme of his medical history if it wasn't necessary, but those files also contained notes on his height, weight changes, pre-enlistment medical history, and other benign details that were as important as anything else. JARVIS added the scans Tony had taken of Barnes's arm and Sam asked him to show him one that he had a decent chance of understanding. 

"I believe you underestimate yourself, Sergeant Wilson," JARVIS replied as a picture came up on the giant wall plasma. It was a rendering of Barnes's left arm from shoulder joint to fingertip, showing where the humerus had been sawed and a metal cap screwed into place. Despite the crudeness of the bonework and the fact that the prosthetic had been permanently attached, everything looked pretty good. Barnes would have full use of his upper arm muscles and, most importantly, the interface between limb and prosthetic looked safe and stable; the psychological complications if he'd needed surgery to correct HYDRA's hack job would have been enormous.

As he had been working, the others had been cobbling together a rotation to sit guard in the medical suite until one or both of the men woke up. Normally, they didn't bother in non-emergent situations; JARVIS was more than sufficient. But considering the temporal complications as well as Barnes's history, a live human seemed like a good idea. 

"I shall sit the first watch," Thor announced and nobody argued because they all wanted to go to bed. Sam took a shift after he finished work tomorrow (today); the nice thing about having an outside job was that nobody expected him to get up early to relieve Thor. 

"What I really want to know is how Barnes is here and there's still a Winter Soldier," Tony said as he led the way toward the elevator. "I mean, shouldn't the Winter Soldier have ceased to exist as a concept the minute Sergeant Barnes showed up in 2014? And why hasn't anything else changed? Even if Steve talked to no one, he'd have changed history by being in the past, but nothing's different. Ellis is still president, unfortunately, and there are still Kardashians and HYDRA's still trying to take over the world."

"Talk to Banner -- after the sun comes up," Clint replied with a shrug, then looked over at Sam. "You're wearing Mighty Mouse pajamas." 

Natasha snorted, presumably because she'd noticed that an hour ago. 

"Because I am that much cooler than you," Sam replied, pleased that he got the last word in because his floor was first. "Goodnight, all."

The first half of the next day was almost normal, inasmuch as that any day at the Brooklyn VA was normal. He got asked a lot of questions about Captain America -- not that anyone knew he'd been found, but instead if he knew what they were going to do to Namor for killing him. Because nobody had believed the SHIELD and Avengers statements that Steve was MIA and not KIA. Sam was able to state unequivocally that he was absolutely sure that Cap was missing and that he would be found, which actually did seem to convince a few people. It at least got him out of a few conversations, none of which were very positive, on a day when he was running short of sleep and would've made things worse if he'd stayed. 

There had been no updates from the Tower in the morning -- Sam had checked on both men before he'd left and they'd been stable and out cold -- but that changed in the afternoon when Sam got a text saying that Barnes had woken up. "He's calm and lucid and really freaked out," Natasha told him when he called in. "But he knew where he was -- or, rather, _when_ he was -- without being told. Seems Steve had promised him that they'd wake up in the future. He's confirmed the rescue story, by the way. He's not saying a whole lot, though. He's as wary of us as we are of him, probably more. And he knows who the Winter Soldier is." 

Sam made a noise of surprise. "I thought you said that that was a Soviet thing."

"It was," Natasha assured. "But Steve apparently told him about it when he was trying to get Barnes to jump ship and avoid going down in Schmidt's plane. One of the first things Barnes said to us was 'I'm not him. I'm not the Winter Soldier.'"

Sam could only sigh because of course this was going to be messy. "So Barnes knows his future and Steve apparently relived the worst moments of his life all over again. And we have to tell them both about what happened to the actual Winter Soldier."

Natasha grunted agreement. "It's going to be the first thing Steve asks about and I'm surprised Barnes hasn't asked yet."

He didn't think Natasha was that surprised, really. "He might as well be on Mars for all that anything looks familiar," he said instead. Barnes had a million other things to worry about than his future self, a threat he probably understood better than all of them anyway and which he would consider less of an immediate problem than his current inability to properly assess his and Steve's situation. "What's he doing now? What is everyone else doing right now?"

Barnes could be docile because he was comfortable with the knowledge that they were among Steve's friends in the future he'd been told about. But while that was the best option, it was also the least likely one. Barnes had been a prisoner of war twice over and he was most likely being docile to avoid confrontation until Steve woke. He wasn't being compliant because he felt safe; he was being compliant because he _didn't_.

"We're not pressing him," Natasha assured, understanding why Sam was asking. "We're not asking him to leave Steve's side, we're not asking questions he's not going to want to answer, and Tony's keeping cool about the arm. We gave him food he'd recognize and ate it with him to show that it was safe. It's... calm right now."

Which was about all anyone could ask for. "Any sign Steve's done napping?"

"No," Natasha replied wryly. "Steve, as ever, is going to do what he's going to do and right now, that's sleep. Barnes doesn't seem distressed about that, at least not yet."

Sam finished his work day and got back to the Tower, where things were definitely charged, but with excitement, not tension. Maria Hill was in the conference room with Tony and Pepper and Mamadou the PR Flack, he was told, trying to come up with the official statement announcing Steve's return.

"Did we tell SHIELD yet?" Sam asked Thor, who was waiting for Marcel to finish loading the cart to take up to the hospital suite. Dinner, like lunch, would be a somewhat communal affair with basic foods. Tonight seemed to feature roasted turkey breast, which Marcel was carving in perfect thin slices, and a meatloaf that Sam was sure was not made from the supermarket ground beef he used for his own. There were freshly baked rolls and an array of condiments and a salad bowl big enough to swim in. Marcel seemed to be happy cooking for the group in any permutation, but he was really Tony and Pepper's chef and everyone had their own kitchens in their own apartments and fended for themselves as a rule. Sam didn't mind the exceptions, however.

"We have not," Thor replied, sounding amused, as he accepted another pitcher of what looked to be iced tea. "I believe the resentment over the amulet's possession has not yet abated enough for that courtesy to be extended."

After the mess in Houston had ended with the dinosaurs being blown to smithereens in Galveston Bay and Namor contained by means originally intended for the Hulk, the Avengers and SHIELD had gotten into a pissing match about who got to keep what. Everyone had still been reeling and raw from watching Steve's apparent death by vaporization and none of the Avengers had been happy to see SHIELD swoop in and demand both Namor and the amulet. Sam was sure that none of the Avengers had been too upset about handing over Namor -- they didn't have the facilities to hold him and, Tony had joked, he didn't want the Tower being burned down by the torch-wielding posse seeking to take revenge on Captain America's killer. But the amulet had been a different story, especially because Thor had thought it had been used to send Steve to a different time and not to his maker. The argument over that had been extended and ugly and had more or less come down to the President threatening to turn the Avengers outlaw if they didn't hand over the amulet. Councilwoman Hawley had been generous, if smug, in her victory and allowed them to show it to Strange, but the bitterness between SHIELD and the Avengers hadn't been new and wasn't going to be over anytime soon, certainly not without Steve able to take an active role in running interference, and so Sam wasn't really all that surprised that Pepper and Tony and Hill were working on ways to both perpetuate it and gain the upper hand.

"Probably best, all considering," Sam said as Marcel handed over a covered basket of flatware and cloth napkins, which was apparently the final piece because he gave them both a "be gone" gesture and Thor started wheeling the trolley toward the elevator. "Especially with Barnes in the picture. We're gonna have to protect him from SHIELD anyway, but we sure as hell can't let them know about him before Steve wakes up."

"Indeed," Thor agreed, then sobered a little. "I am not so ill-traveled or inexperienced to not understand why citizens, especially citizens of power, should want to protect themselves from their rulers. But in a place where the government is by statute servant of the people and subject to their approval, I admit it constantly surprises me how the law of the land is so often by fiat and, even more, how overreach goes unchallenged. Was that not the purpose of your revolution?"

Sam laughed. "Oh, man, you need to have that conversation with Steve or Tony," he said, following Thor into the elevator. "I mean, you're right, it's weird. And it's actually a big reason why HYDRA got as far as it did. We got used to being told what to do, being guided by people who swore it was for our benefit and they knew better. But I'm the wrong guy to talk political philosophy with. I've been working for the government since I got out of school, carrying a rifle or carrying a clipboard. You catch me on a good day, I'll tell you about what we're doing better than anyone else, you catch me on a bad day, I'll be heading for the barricades to start the next revolution. Especially considering the goat rodeo where I currently work as a clown."

Sam followed Thor down the hall toward the medical suite, which was most of the floor, a far more advanced set-up than Sam thought necessary considering that they didn't have a full-time medical staff and would need to transfer any serious cases and all surgical ones to a hospital. But as a glorified clinic, it was amazing and Sam had felt like a kid in a candy store when Tony and Pepper had sat him down and told him to order anything he thought they needed, regardless of cost. He hadn't gone bananas, still too blown away by the largesse that had him living in the Tower in the first place, but he'd had fun. A lot of fun, despite it actually being a pretty challenging task to come up with what would be necessary for care of a super-soldier, a demi-god, an irradiated man containing a rage monster, an Extremis carrier, and Tony after his arc reactor surgery. Natasha, Clint, Hill, and Colonel Rhodes had been the easiest to plan for, which they'd all been somewhat insulted by.

Steve and Barnes were in the far room, the one that had two beds and a gorgeous view of Central Park. Clint was on duty, but Sam only heard a baseball game on the television as they drew close. The Mets, presumably, although putting the Yankees on might be the fastest way to get Steve up and looking for the remote to change the channel.

"Our feast," Thor announced as he pushed the trolley in, Sam behind. Barnes's attention had swiveled from the screen to the door and he gave Thor and the cart a cursory glance before turning his attention to Sam, who had prepared for the inspection by relaxing his posture and smiling.

"Hey, man," he said, stepping around the cart and offering his hand to Barnes. "My name is Sam Wilson. It's an honor to meet you."

Barnes gave him a weak smile that bore more than a passing resemblance to a wince at the 'honor' part, but accepted the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. "How do you do?"

There were a couple of extant video and audio clips of Sergeant James Barnes from before his fall, a short interview with Ernie Pyle being the most complete. Sam had heard his voice before, but it still felt weird to hear it in person, without the distortions and effects of old tape badly preserved, just as it had been to see him in the flesh last night. It wasn't the same kind of blown-away he'd been when he'd first met Steve -- who'd promptly punctured that balloon by being a cheeky asshole -- but it didn't not matter. Regardless of what came after his fall, James Barnes had been a helluva soldier even before he'd been a Commando, a helluva man by more than just Steve's accounting, and Sam hoped, _prayed_ , that they could count on that, build on that, to give him a better future the second time around.

Thor pushed the trolley over to the table by the window and started unloading it.

"I am going to be so disappointed when I'm back to making my own tunafish sandwiches," Clint sighed as he watched Thor work.

"I hear ya," Sam agreed as he went over to the laptop by Steve's bed, aware that Barnes's eyes were following him closely and telegraphing his moves accordingly because Barnes was a good man and a hero, but he was also a trauma survivor and very far out of his element. He still clearly viewed them all as potential threats and nothing they said right now would convince him otherwise. He turned to Barnes now. "Has there been any change or is Sleeping Beauty still doing his thing?"

Barnes seemed a little surprised to be asked. "He hasn't moved," he said. "Why hasn't he?"

Sam nodded even as he shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted. "I don't know what time travel does to people or why you're up when he's not. It's not like a drug or something that he'd process out of his system faster than anyone else. I don't know enough about what you were doing before you came forward or the mechanism of how you did, whether that has anything to do with it. I'm just the medic, not the time travel dude. But he's not in any distress, he's not in any pain, so the only thing we can do is wait it out."

"Which is pretty much the only way to deal with Steve when he's being contrary," Clint called from the other side of the room and Barnes, for a second, almost smiled. But then he turned back to Sam and gave him a penetrating look.

"How do you know he's not in pain?"

Sam grinned. "Come here," he said, gesturing toward the laptop. Once he could see that Barnes was indeed crossing the room, he brought up the relevant readings on the screen. "That reading, that's his heart rate. And this one is his breathing, more or less. They're both stable and steady and slow, like he's sleeping. There are no spikes, no general elevations, just a regular lub-dub, inhale-exhale. If he were in pain, they'd both be jumping a little. But you already knew by looking at him that he was fine, as did I. Guy's got no poker face, even when he's asleep."

Another ghost of a smile from Barnes, who was watching Steve sleep with a mixture of fondness and fear. Barnes could possibly be a great actor, but Sam was already sliding toward 'not here to kill Steve and everyone else.' Mostly from gut instinct and what he'd observed and what the others had observed, but also because the other tabs on the display were for Barnes's heart and pulmonary readings and Barnes, unlike Steve, was in a lot of distress, if not necessarily pain. His heartbeat was all over the place, not the unaffected slow march of a cold-eyed assassin biding his time and faking it for the crowd. 

"He'll be fine," Sam said quietly. "He didn't bring you here to leave you alone. Not his style."

Barnes looked away from Steve and met Sam's eyes and Sam waited, letting Barnes see whatever it was he wanted to see. There was nothing Sam could do to make Barnes trust him except to not look like he was hiding anything and to treat Barnes with respect and no pity. It's how he hoped to treat everyone and it was what made him suited for work at the VA, helping out others both during the group sessions and during his casework. He believed himself to be a good person, but he couldn't just tell people he was and expect them to believe him, whether or not they had Barnes's history of abuse. He had to prove it, every single time. So he would here. Because Rogers, lying on the bed, was not the only stubborn bastard in the room.

"Come, eat before the Mets ruin everyone's appetite with their incompetence," Thor called over and Sam turned because Clint was laughing hard enough to choke and Thor was pounding him on the back. Sam didn't think Thor's timing had been accidental, but he was willing to go along with it. 

"They told you about the Dodgers, right?" Sam asked as he gestured for Barnes to precede him.

"Yeah," Barnes assured sourly.

Anyone else, Sam would've patted them on the shoulder in sympathy as they passed, but there was no telling how Barnes would take the unexpected contact and every likelihood that Sam wouldn't enjoy the experience if Barnes took it badly.

"Since when are you a baseball fan?" Sam asked Thor as he waited for Barnes to finish serving himself from the table. Barnes had an appetite, at least, which was a great sign. If he finished everything on his plate, that would be a better one.

"Jane is a devoted follower of the Cubs of Chicago," Thor explained as he took his plate to a chair. "We watch the games on television, but we have also gone to games at Wrigley Field and sat in the bleachers eating hot dogs and drinking beer. It is not the most athletic of competitions, but there is a strategy involved that I am learning to appreciate."

Sam beamed. "You're a bleacher bum," he marveled. Barnes shifted to the side and Sam picked up a plate and the salad tongs. "You know that they haven't won the World Series since you were in diapers, right?"

"I have been breeched for far longer than a century," Thor harrumphed, although he clearly understood the joke. 

Sam turned to Barnes. "Yeah, the Cubs are still at Wrigley, although they play night games there now, and they still haven't won since 1908."

Barnes gave him a weak grin. "Something's the same, I guess," he said, then leaned forward to look at Thor, who was eating with both gusto and refinement. "He's older than he looks."

"He's Jesus old," Sam confirmed. "I might mean that literally. I never really asked."

They took their plates to go sit and eat, Barnes back to the end of his bed and Sam to a chair closer to the foot of Steve's bed. He pretended not to notice Barnes tracking him as he approached Steve, relaxing again once Sam turned the chair away from Steve and sat down.

They had finished eating when Clint got a phone call that sounded like it might be from Fury and headed off with a wave in the bottom of the seventh. After the game was over, they helped Thor load up the trolley, which he then rolled off with goodnights all around, even to Steve.

"You on guard duty?" Barnes asked when it was just the two of them -- three, counting Steve, who hadn't so much as twitched.

"You're not a prisoner here," Sam replied. "I'm more on a... 'make sure you don't freak out' duty. It's been a strange day for you and the guy who'd most like to help you is currently indisposed."

Barnes chuffed out a laugh that wasn't entirely in control. "You don't know the half of it."

From someone else, that might've been an invitation to ask about his day, but it wasn't here and Sam let it drop. Instead, he watched Barnes drag the chair Sam had used during dinner and pull it over so that it was between the beds, about level with Steve's middle. So he could see Steve and Sam and the door at all times. Not surprising, but an indicator of where Barnes's head was: he wasn't ready to trust anyone right now. 

"You went down in Schmidt's plane?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer and not expecting much more than confirmation, since that was information he'd already revealed. And that was all he got. Barnes nodded, picking at the armrest with his left hand. Sam had noticed that Barnes used his prosthetic hand easily and well, far better than most amputees, although his prosthetic seemed to have much more fine control than most prosthetics, so maybe that made it easier. But his comfort with it, his acceptance of it, was notable for its circumstances. James Barnes had never really been an amputee; he'd always had two hands, even if one of them had changed composition. His time under HYDRA control, the proto-Winter Soldier time, however long that had been, had been his transition from flesh arm to metal, and by the time he'd been himself again, he was used to how the prosthetic worked. 

"Hey, JARVIS, are the Rangers playing tonight?" 

He'd watched a lot of Rangers games when he'd been at Lackland. It was AL ball, which wasn't as much fun, but it was good to have a team in a different time zone for those nights when he needed a distraction. 

Barnes perked up. "It's hockey season?" 

"Wrong Rangers," Sam answered. "Baseball team in Texas." 

"The Rangers are in San Francisco, Sergeant Wilson," JARVIS reported. "The score is 1-0 Giants in the top of the third. Would you like to watch the game?" 

Barnes had startled at JARVIS's words, although this couldn't have been the first time he heard the AI speak. But Barnes didn't understand what an AI was, maybe, not completely, and the disembodied voice that knew far too much had freaked Sam out a little at first, too. Especially before he'd understood that no, there was no way JARVIS was recording every move in his new apartment. 

"Sure," Sam said. "Thank you." 

The television turned back on and the game appeared. 

"You're not gonna get upset at seeing the Giants, are you?" Sam asked, as if he hadn't seen Barnes jump. 

Barnes shook his head no. "You're in the service?" he asked instead. He looked curious, which Sam took as a good sign. 

"Technical Sergeant Samuel Wilson, US Air National Guard," Sam replied with a sloppy salute. 

"You're a pilot?" 

Sam laughed, holding up his hand in protest when Barnes took it as laughing at him. "It's something Steve said to me at the beginning, nothing on you," he explained, but Barnes didn't relax entirely. "I'm a pararescue jumper. Although with my wings, I'm as close to a Flying Sergeant as anyone's going to get in the modern era. It's how I ended up with this gig, team medic on the Avengers. Well, that and Steve." 

They both looked back at Steve, who remained uninterested in the proceedings. 

"So I guess I gotta listen to you," Barnes said and Sam smiled internally because this was Barnes _trying_ , despite his obvious discomfort and earlier deflection of questions about the past. 

"Nah, I'm a half-step from IRR and you're free to ignore me as much as everyone else does," Sam replied loftily. "Also, Tech Sergeant doesn't mean what it used to. I'm like a staff sergeant in the Army."

They watched the game for an inning without talking and Sam was content to do so. His job right now was to make every verbal exchange with Barnes a productive one, not necessarily to initiate anything. Especially when Barnes was initiating on his own, if not quite regularly. 

In the middle of the fifth, Sam looked at the clock, which said it was almost midnight. He stood up, drawing Barnes's attention and he stood, too. "I gotta get up for work in the morning. The assumption is that you're gonna want stay here tonight and not want any company, so if that's the case, it's going to be you and Steve and JARVIS. You need anything, you talk to the Invisible Man. JARVIS, you'll take care of our boys?"

There'd been a discussion over texts during the day whether it would be wise to leave Barnes with Steve overnight unsupervised. Sam had said that if it seemed Barnes was stable and sane, then showing him some trust, even if it wasn't reciprocated -- especially if it wasn't reciprocated -- would be beneficial. Barnes would very likely stay awake anyway to watch over Steve lest one of _them_ attempt anything, so being in the room would only exacerbate things. There'd been pushback, but everyone recognized that this was Sam's area of expertise and while the matter had been unresolved by the time Sam had left work, the fact that Tony hadn't shown up to relieve him gave the final answer. 

"Of course, Sergeant Wilson," JARVIS assured, making it very clear that it was an unnecessary question. Sam wondered how much JARVIS might understand how much it wasn't for Barnes. "Sergeant Barnes merely has to ask."

Sam nodded. "Thanks," he said to JARVIS, then turned to Barnes. "Someone will be by in the morning and see if we can get you some real clothes and maybe out for a walk or something so you don't get cabin fever. If Steve wakes up, he can make his own choices."

If Steve woke up during the night, that would make things a lot easier for everyone. 

"I'm serious about asking JARVIS for anything," he added. "Doesn't have to be important. You want to watch a hockey game, the Rangers made it to the Cup Final this year, you can see that. You want to watch the Marx Brothers or listen to Bing Crosby, you can do that, too. Don't think it's too small or too silly. Nobody's going to judge and it's no waste of JARVIS's time or attention. He's a resource and he wants to help."

Sam waited for agreement or, possibly more important, a challenge. But there was no challenge, just Barnes nodding as he turned away to go back to his chair. 

"Do you want to do something else?" Sam asked. "We figured you would want to keep an eye on Steve in case he woke up during the night, but if you want to get out of here for a few hours, I'll take you up to Steve's apartment and you can sleep there and come back here in the morning. It's up to you. Nobody's making plans for you, nobody's keeping you here." 

Barnes shook his head. Sam could see that he was scared... maybe not scared, but at least overwhelmed. Like what had happened to him was finally really hitting him. This was he needed Steve for, or someone else he could talk to and trust with his fears because he didn't trust any of them enough to show vulnerability. He was afraid of what would happen if that vulnerability was tested.

"When Steve woke up back in 2011," Sam began, "SHIELD had this whole ridiculous movie set thing for him, a room done up like it was 1945 with a Dodgers game on the radio. Except he figured it out pretty much immediately and thought he'd been captured by HYDRA and made a break for it. Right out into the street because the same idiots who put on a ball game he'd been at on the radio had put his shoes on. Like people sleep on a bed in their shoes. So he runs out into the street and finds himself in Times Square, which believe you me looks a little different than it did in your day, and that's how he finds out he's in the future. After getting chased down like an escaped dog. Or an escaped prisoner. 

"There's no easy way to tell someone that everything that's familiar to them, everyone that they knew, is now seventy years past and gone. There are wrong ways, and SHIELD's was one of 'em, but... It's hard, man. It's going to be hard for a while. Steve didn't have half the shit you've been through, pardon the language, and it was so hard for him. You being here will make it easier. Him being here will make it easier for you, at least once he wakes up. You'll have a supply of shared experiences and memories that you'll be able to rely on when everything else looks strange and wrong and when the homesickness kicks in. You'll have someone to tell you that you're not crazy and you having a decent chance of believing them.

"But I hope, in time, that you'll let us help you, too. That's a plural you, by the way, because you will be shocked to learn that Steve's no better about asking for help now than he was in 1945. We want to make it hurt less for both of you. There are going to be mistakes all around because good intentions are the pavestones to hell for a reason. But our hearts are in the right places."

He'd delivered this entire monologue to Barnes's back and when he stopped talking, Barnes turned and nodded, not saying anything but giving him the courtesy of showing that he'd listened. 

"I'll see you in the morning, Sergeant Barnes," Sam said with a smile. "Welcome to the twenty-first century."

Sam had to get up at oh-dark-thirty for work because he had an early group session at the Brooklyn VA, after which he had appointments until noon and then a long break before he had to be up in the Bronx until late. Because his schedule had been put together by lobotomized monkeys (or retired Marines, same diff), although the explanation he'd been given was that it had been his sudden transfer up to New York from DC. He didn't always return home in between, even though it was geographically on the way, but today he did. 

"Oh, good," Hill's assistant Gloria greeted him, handing him a large shopping bag from Macy's. "You can give Sergeant Barnes his pants."

The bag contained more than just pants; someone had bought Barnes underwear and socks and shoes and toiletry kit beyond the toothbrush he'd been issued yesterday. "Why aren't there any shirts?" he asked. "I know the man's probably cut like Rogers, but it's a little early to be planning the beefsteak calendar photo shoot."

Gloria, already back on her phone, rolled her eyes. "He can wear Captain Rogers's," she replied. 

He went up to the medical suite to find Barnes (and Steve) with Thor and the trolley and absolutely no food left. "So much for my hopes of bumming another gourmet meal," Sam sighed mournfully as he came into the room. "Sergeant Barnes, I bring you clothing. But not shirts, because apparently you are supposed to borrow Steve's or go topless." 

Barnes looked like he hadn't slept much, but he seemed marginally less tightly wound than yesterday. It took a few minutes to get him to agree to go up to Steve's apartment to shower and change and get a clean shirt -- there were showers, regular and decontamination, here, but the hope was to get him comfortable with leaving Steve alone, even for a few minutes. Especially if Steve's doze was going to be extended. Sam didn't want to use the C word aloud, but Steve had technically been in a coma by the time he'd been returned to New York and the medical notes reflected that. If it went much past tomorrow, there was going to have to be a discussion about bringing in a neurologist and running tests. The only reason he hadn't suggested it already was because of the time-travel aspect and something Barnes had told Natasha this morning: Steve had been unconscious for three days when he'd first gone back in time. They could wait that long with nothing else medically wrong with him. 

Thor took Barnes upstairs and Sam used the privacy to update the medical notes and do a quick exam, which confirmed that Steve really was just sleeping. Heavily. 

"Get your ass up soon, Rogers," Sam told him as he saved the file. "This gets a lot easier with you carrying some of the weight."

Barnes, clean, shaved, and wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a kangaroo wearing boxing gloves on it, returned a half-hour later. 

"Okay, first lesson on how to get by in the twenty-first century," Sam said with a frown at Thor, who was beaming. "Don't let the aliens dress you."

"What's wrong with it?" Barnes frowned, plucking at the hem of the shirt.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Sam replied. "Steve wears it willingly. It's just whimsical, that's all. It may invite comments. Wasn't sure you were up to it."

Barnes nodded, like he wasn't sure whether he was missing something and suspected it was at his expense. 

"There is nothing wrong with your shirt," Thor assured soberly. "It was a souvenir I brought Steve back from a visit to the land of Australia. That was why I suggested it, nothing more." 

A ghost of a real smile from Barnes. "Never been, but I met people from there in Europe. Characters, all of 'em."

"They are a boisterous people," Thor agreed, smiling. "I found myself quite fond of them." 

Sam made a point of rolling his eyes where both men could see him. "I am shocked about that man, really shocked," he said, stepping aside so that Barnes could sit down in the chair by Steve's bed if he wanted to. He did. He didn't reach out to touch Steve's hand, although Sam suspected that if nobody else had been around, he might have.

"Would it be possible for someone to return the service cart to the penthouse kitchen area?" JARVIS asked. "It has been requested."

"I shall attend to it," Thor answered. "It was my distraction that has delayed its return. I had been warned of its further need."

"Good, you face the wrath of Marcel," Sam agreed. "I can still be his favorite and get the extra cookies." 

Thor wheeled the trolley out, bidding Barnes a good afternoon on the way, explaining that he had an appointment that would take him away from the Tower for the afternoon. Sam thought it was a talk with Strange, but didn't ask why Strange wasn't coming here. 

"You get a tour around Steve's place?" he asked Barnes once Thor had left. 

"Just the bathroom and the dresser," Barnes replied with a half a smile. "The one made no sense and the other hasn't changed since 1943."

"I will not pretend to be surprised that Steve organizes his drawers the same way now that he did back when," Sam said, leaning against the chair at the foot of Steve's bed, hands on the back. "And for the record, the facilities in this place are a little weird even if you're originally from this time. I kinda miss having regular knobs for hot and cold in the shower, none of this touch-panel business. But you get used to it, even if you don't think you will. I was at drill the other weekend and I looked like a goddamned idiot trying to adjust the hot water by hitting my elbow against the wall." 

Barnes gave him another half-smile. Points for effort, maybe. Sam would take them. 

"You think about staying at Steve's place tonight," he said. "Give yourself a break from here, make it feel less like a prison. You'll get a shout-out if Steve wakes up, you know that. Any change at all, JARVIS'll holler."

Barnes nodded noncommittally, eyes on the monitor that showed Steve's heart rate. 

"If he's going to be out for three days, which is a possibility, then you might as well get comfortable," he went on. "Go upstairs to the roof deck, get some sun and some air, relax. I'm gonna take a guess and you haven't had a couple of days off in a long time." 

Barnes looked up at him. "Depends if you count the time I was frozen," he said with the same half-smile and Sam's heart broke for him a little then. 

"That doesn't count," he said gently but very firmly. "You did not get a single second off while you were a prisoner. Not a _second_. Don't know how they counted it back then, but it's not how we do it now."

Barnes didn't answer, looking down at the floor. 

"How long ago did Steve get you out?" Sam tried. Maybe he would be more willing to answer questions today. Or maybe they would have to wait until Steve woke up. Whenever that was. But Barnes looked up at him sharply, as if he didn't like Sam knowing something he hadn't told them. There was a touch of menace to it and Sam held up his hands, indicating peace and defensiveness both. "You were dressed like a Howling Commando when you came forward, not like a HYDRA POW. It's possible Steve found you on board the plane, but odds are he didn't and you were there because he wanted you there watching his back." 

The tension in Barnes's posture softened and he nodded once, looking over at Steve. Sam didn't move, just stayed where he was. He didn't think Barnes was going to go after him, but he also didn't want Barnes to think that he'd run him off. There was a push-pull to this, especially with someone like Barnes who had very probably gotten a lot of use out of the stony silence in response to questions. He wondered how much Steve had gotten out of Barnes, or whether Steve had even tried, too grateful to have him back or too scared to fracture what was not, upon close inspection, wholly intact. There was a fragility to Barnes that was completely at odds with the obvious physical prowess and the ferocious protectiveness toward Steve. It was something he could probably normally hide quite well, but not here, not when there was nowhere to hide, not when everything was so strange and he believed there to be no chance to rest and regroup. He was a soldier on 24-hour watch and he would not give up that duty easily, possibly not at all until Steve stirred.

He was a soldier, but he wasn't _the_ Soldier. Sam couldn't see anything of the Winter Soldier in him, not really, just the echo of the same lethal competence and even then, it was a dim echo. This James Barnes could kill without hesitation if he needed to, but there was nothing of the rest of what had made the Winter Soldier so fearsome. He was too _human_ and while Sam was sure Steve had recognized that, he wasn't sure if Steve had tried to communicate that to Barnes and, if he had, whether Barnes had listened. Sam suspected not. Barnes hadn't had much of a chance to recognize how much of himself HYDRA hadn't been able to touch, to corrupt. However long he'd been free of HYDRA, his own people hadn't sent him home to recover, hadn't kept him from the fighting -- and Barnes probably hadn't objected too much. (Steve had probably been another story.) This was what they could offer him now, if he'd let them. A chance to realize the person behind the legacy. It's what they'd offered to Steve, as best they could, and what Steve was _finally_ willing to consider, just as SHIELD and the requirements of being Captain America were sinking their teeth in ever deeper.

"Three months, almost," Barnes said, sounding like he had been thinking back on those months. Sam hadn't forgotten the question, but he'd given up on the answer. "And he didn't want me there. On the plane. He wanted me to finish out the war and go home and live happily ever after." 

Sam didn't miss the bitterness of those last words, the sardonic edge to them because Barnes saw them as a joke life had played on him, a future no longer possible for him to have. He heard it a lot in the group sessions, even more in the one-on-one mentoring. And so he knew better than to assure Barnes that that wasn't necessarily true, that he could in fact have whatever future he wanted if he worked at it. Because sometimes it was true, yes, but also because it sounded like bullshit to someone who could only see the future through the pain of the present. There would be a time when Barnes could hear "it gets better" and, if not believe it likely, then at least accept it was in the realm of the possible. But right now, when he didn't know Sam and didn't especially trust him, was not that time. Right now, all Sam could do was build another layer on the foundation of what he hoped would be trust in the future.

"Of course he did," he agreed instead. "Because it's Steve and he always wants the best for those he loves. And likes. And sometimes even just tolerates."

Barnes was still looking at Steve and his expression turned fond for a moment. 

"When he wakes up, you two can have the same argument again, this time on even terms," Sam said. "I don't think Steve ever figured out what he wants to be when he grows up, either."

That earned him a smile that wasn't entirely free of ruefulness and regret, but Sam could squint and pretend he didn't see it. "Listen, man, I gotta grab something to eat before I go back to work. You're welcome to come down to my pad with me -- if you've got an appetite like Rogers, you could always do with a snack -- or you can go up to Steve's or up to the roof. Or you can sit here, but you've done that a lot and, yeah, he's pretty, but the view's kinda boring." 

Barnes chose to stay, which was what Sam expected, but he did allow for the possibility that he could change his mind later, which Sam doubted but was progress nonetheless. He went down to his place, made himself lunch, and then headed back out to the rest of his workday. One of these days, he was going to use his wings to commute, save himself the aggravation of the long subway ride and just fly. But today wasn't that day; he was still new enough on the staff to not want to piss off his supervisors and, with the extremely public shitshow that was the VA these days, there were all sorts of ways it could bring the wrong attention.

Not that he didn't draw attention at work anyway; right around when he got off the 4 train, the Avengers made their public announcement that Captain America had been recovered -- still without telling SHIELD first. They reported that he'd been recovered, was in excellent physical shape, but was nonetheless recovering from his ordeal and would have no statement at this time. There was no mention of Barnes or any other detail about when or where or how, but Sam didn't know how they were going to keep those details hidden, especially from Hawley because the crash site was under SHIELD's purview and the people who'd found Barnes and Rogers were SHIELD agents. Apparently Hill had her ways, none of which Sam was inclined to doubt as far as efficacy or sphincter factor, but the rules were different now and Hill wasn't SHIELD and Hawley wasn't inclined to play fair to get what she wanted.

The effect of the announcement was immediate and, at least initially, very positive, at least outside of SHIELD, who couldn't exactly say otherwise. Everyone was elated; the fugue the country had been in for most of the last week dissipated like smoke. Captain America was alive! Sam got a dozen back-slaps and twice as many questions about the details, including whether he had been there, and he got out of all of it by saying no, he'd been right here doing his job like he was supposed to be doing.

The job he was supposed to be doing today, too, but couldn't because of bureaucracy and the cowardice of administrators terrified that the next wave of investigations into how deeply messed up the VA was would shine daylight on their own inadequacies. It wasn't like he didn't know he worked at a profoundly dysfunctional agency, but it sometimes still astonished him how some of the people there were still in ass-covering mode, pretending nothing was wrong or that they had nothing to do with what was very clearly wrong, instead of doing whatever they could to _fix things_. And today, today was a full CYA day because the shit was hip deep and coming fast. There had been a wave of subpoenas last week and the rats were scurrying and Sam, on the front lines trying to help out the vets who had nowhere else to turn -- nobody came to VA hospitals if they had better options -- was being simultaneously handcuffed and micromanaged to the point where common sense had no place in the conversation. He had never come so close to crying at work outside of a group session as he had today, except this time the tears would have been of pure rage and frustration.

He left work as soon as he was able, forgoing finishing up his paperwork until the morning, because of course the schedule monkeys had put him in the Bronx tomorrow, and went straight home, not even stopping at Giovanni's, like he usually did on Wednesdays. Thankfully, the 4 was running okay and, even more thankfully, he ran into nobody at the Tower when he got home because he was just not in the frame of mind to be anyone's sounding board or comfort. Not James Barnes, not anyone else. He changed his clothes, went down to the armory, and suited up because in the sky, he could _breathe_.

He launched and swung north, following the Hudson as it began its regression from mighty river to piddling stream, away from the lights of Manhattan and the Bronx and the northern suburbs. His new goggles adjusted for light as well as the lack thereof and he could call up a compass and a GPS if he needed it, but right now he neither needed it nor wanted it. He just wanted to go wherever the hell his wings took him. Once he was safely clear of airports and past the exurbs, he got a little more creative in his flying, slowing down and becoming a little more of bird on the wing and less a bullet through the sky. He finally pulled into a hover over Lake George, crowded with boats and rimmed with lights in the falling darkness, before making a lazy circle over it. He was feeling much lighter now, as he knew he would. The weight of expectations, self-imposed and not, and failures and stupidity and cruelty, all of that was left behind, too heavy to take air.

Which was why he was willing to answer the beeping in his earpiece. "Yo."

"Feeling better?" Natasha asked. "Saw you take off like a bat out of hell."

Sam looked at his watch; he'd been gone more than an hour. Natasha was good like that, good at recognizing when not to press.

"Yeah," he said, meaning it. "Shit day at work. Anything I should've done before I left?" 

He hadn't wanted to check in and check up, but even with his crappy mood, he probably should have. Especially because of Barnes and Steve. 

"Nothing you won't be in a better frame of mind to handle now," Natasha replied and Sam understood that not to be a rebuke, but instead simply a warning that he would be needed when he returned. "I told Barnes about the Winter Soldier this afternoon."

Sam exhaled loudly. "I'm gonna assume it's because he asked," he said. "How did that go?" 

Natasha made a noise that got lost a little in the air current, but could've meant anything.

"He took it pretty well, all considering," she said, a wobbly note in her voice that Sam had come to realize was her trying to laugh at something and fail. He hadn't asked her the details of the Winter Soldier's death, but he knew she'd been there and as cathartic as it had been for the James Barnes of the future to finally be at peace and on his own terms, it had been hard for her. Sam knew very little about her life and career before he met her -- the newspapers were full of stuff after her testimony, all of it BS according to both Natasha and Clint -- but he knew that she'd seen something of herself in what had become of James Barnes and watching him die, possibly helping him die, and taking care of his remains had affected her deeply. If she ever wanted to talk to him, he'd listen, but she kept her own counsel. He was just getting better at eavesdropping. "I think he's more concerned with how Steve is going to take it."

Sam couldn't roll his eyes and have Natasha see it, so he laughed instead. "Of course he is. I mean, not like we haven't been worried how we were going to tell him, but Barnes is the one guy who should be thinking of himself first and isn't."

"For some people, it's easier not to," Natasha replied and Sam didn't think for a moment that she wasn't talking about herself. "Barnes spent a few hours up on the roof deck by himself afterward. Walked around some, took in the views, sat under an umbrella and stared at the pool for a while. But he was more settled afterward. I didn't try to see if he was willing to talk about what happened while Steve was back in time, but I think he might be willing to talk if approached properly." 

He'd already started flying back south, not at anything close to full throttle, but sped up a little. "Is that where I come in?" 

"Possibly," Natasha agreed. "But also Tony's starting to get impatient with Steve and Thor's gotten a lot out of Strange that might or might not make sense, so another sane head probably wouldn't be unwanted." 

Which was Natasha-speak for 'please hurry up and help me before I kill someone.' He chuckled. "Alright, I'll be back inside an hour." 

"I'll tell Tony that Marcel is cooking for everyone," Natasha replied. "See you then."

When he got back to the Tower, he could see the roof deck lights on and people moving around or sitting by the pool. Pepper was actually in the pool. As he came in for a landing, Thor waved and Sam took that to mean that the Avengers team meeting and dinner party was going to be happening there. 

"We asked Sergeant Barnes if he would join us, but he declined," Thor said after greeting him. "He has been brought dinner and is watching baseball with Steve." 

The first order of business was a drink for Sam -- "now that you're done with driving for the night" -- and then on to what havoc Hill and wreaked on her former employers with the news that Steve was alive and well. 

"Oh, they're shitting housebricks," Hill assured with glee and took a sip of her whiskey. "Hawley should be sending the army of bureaucrats, lawyers, and government officials by tomorrow morning demanding access to Steve. And if it weren't for the fact that we've put so much effort into hiding Sergeant Barnes from them, I'd almost pay to watch them take him on." 

"For those of us who were fighting a different government evil today," Sam said over the general laughter, "how exactly are we hiding the man from the agency that technically found him?" 

"SHIELD form SCI-180704/K," Hill replied. "SHIELD has a broad spectrum of SCI control systems, like any intelligence agency. It was, to an extent, how Pierce managed to nurture HYDRA within SHIELD's walls and how we managed to build Project Insight without raising too many questions. In the wake of the grand cleanup, Hawley's Grand Inquisitors had to go through each control system and test its faith, burning the heretics and blessing the meek. In the process, they obliterated almost every single one, because they have the delicacy of cross-eyed elephants and everyone who was really good at that sort of thing is already working for us." 

Hill looked over at Pepper, who'd finished her lap swim and was now swathed in a thick robe and nibbling on a crostini. 

"Ms. Potts over here has very good recall about which systems Stark Industries tech have been housed under over the years and found one that was currently obsolete because there was no data in the system to be protected," Hill went on. "And it just so happened to be the original rubric used for when Steve had been found back in 2011, before it got moved to a different system with a much larger data set and circulation access. So we reactivated it, restricted access to the team that found him and Avengers principals, and reminded the poor schmucks at the monitoring station that if they disclosed any details to anyone, from Hawley on down and even if the President himself called, they were looking at life in the Fridge if they were lucky. We might have suggested updating their life insurance policies."

Tony, next to Pepper, beamed proudly. Sam could only shake his head. "I am so glad we are on the same side." 

Hill tilted her tumbler at him in acknowledgment. "In theory, we can hide Barnes indefinitely. In practice, we'll see because it's not like we don't know that SHIELD is watching this place ninety different ways, most of them illegal." 

"Which is how I get my kicks these days," Tony piped up. "He's fine by the windows and on the roof -- if TMZ can't see us, SHIELD can't, either. But it will get harder once he leaves the building. Once Steve is up and running, there's going to have to be a discussion about what to do with him. Including the fact that at some point down the line, someone is probably going to draw the line between the Winter Soldier and the Howling Commando." 

Whether or not Steve woke up, Barnes's options were very limited in the short-term. He was not equipped to function in the outside world, not practically and probably not emotionally, either. That said, getting him up to speed and getting him the help he needed were going to be longer-term projects than one could reasonably expect he'd want to stay cloistered in the Tower. But if he wanted to stay dead, to keep James Buchanan Barnes in the past, then they would indeed need to do some work. Protecting him from the shitstorm that would rain down once the Winter Soldier's identity was publicly known, that was something else. 

"The more pressing problem is going to be SHIELD access to Steve," Pepper warned. "Hawley knows he's not conscious and respects that our care for him has been thorough, but she won't be put off indefinitely and the longer we keep him from her, conscious or not, the worse it will be. They need to get their own oars in the PR waters and just repeating what we say won't be satisfactory."

Nobody said anything, but Sam knew their attention was on him. "Today is day two, tomorrow will be day three," he said. "Barnes said that Steve had been out three days when he first went back in time, so that's how long I'm comfortable waiting. After that, we need to find a specialist, but it's going to be damned hard to get an answer because he's got zero brain trauma. His scan yesterday looked identical to the one on his last physical. So unless Strange wants to combine his old career and his new one and come up with a mystical medical reason caused by time travel, all we can really do is wait. And the longer we wait, the harder SHIELD's gonna be banging on the door." 

"So as we are in the field, thus we are in this, too," Thor mused. "Awaiting direction from our Captain." 

Business continued through dinner, mostly everyone catching everyone else up on what they'd been up to, what their secretive members were up to, what Strange had said and how Thor interpreted it, and a lengthy discussion on the sanity and salvation of James Barnes. Everyone agreed that he was profoundly damaged, but they also agreed without Sam needing to remind them that he was really in no shape to be judged right now, displaced and alone and terrified on Steve's behalf. Thor was the one who suggested he could find a place on the Avengers should he desire it when he was healthier, but Sam didn't think anyone disagreed. Personally, he wouldn't mind, but he also didn't want to limit Barnes's options by thinking about him as a future Avenger -- he could assume that Barnes would want to stay by Steve, but Barnes's desire to get away from this life of perpetual war might prove greater and Sam would support that wholeheartedly. Steve would, too, of course, but Sam didn't want James Barnes, Future Avenger to become the default against which he had to fight for his freedom. 

James Barnes, Most Recently Howling Commando was sitting on his bed watching Seattle take on Kansas City when Sam stopped in after leaving the others to their coffee and cordials and cheese plate. 

"What's a DH?" he asked as Sam opened up the laptop to see the history of Steve's readings. He thought it a mark of progress that Barnes let him come in and approach Steve's bed without getting up to closely observe and prepare to interfere if necessary. 

"It's an abomination is what it is," Sam replied vehemently as he scanned the screens. Normal, normal, normal, all normal and unchanged. Steve was sleeping with no sign of waking up. "But what it stands for is Designated Hitter. It's an American League thing -- they have a guy who hits for the pitcher but isn't a pinch-hitter. He's just sitting on the bench all game except when it's his turn to bat. Mostly it's guys who can still hit but are too old or too bad to play in the field. It screws with the game."

Sam sat down in a chair and watched an inning, then decided to broach the first subject. "You think you might stay at Steve's tonight, get a break from here? Steve's got a TV, too, so you can watch the game up there." 

Barnes looked over at Steve and Sam waited. 

"He'll know where he is the moment he wakes up," Sam said as the silence stretched into the top of the next inning. "And you'll probably be here before he does. JARVIS'll have you running here the minute he shows signs of stirring."

He didn't tell Barnes that Barnes should realize by now that none of them would hurt Steve; it would be counterproductive because Barnes didn't know that at all. Every time he left Steve alone, he was taking a chance, extending faith that they hadn't earned yet. 

"Okay," Barnes said at the commercial break. The word had come out rushed, like he'd pushed it out before he could swallow it down. 

Sam turned to him and smiled. "Good. You let me know when you're ready to go and I'll go up with you, show you how everything works so you can get by on your own."

Barnes nodded. "We can go now," he offered. "He doesn't care." 

Sam stood up. "He cares a helluva lot," Sam told him firmly. "He's just withholding his opinion at the moment." 

They both wished Steve goodnight and JARVIS dimmed the lights as they left. Barnes knew his way to the elevator by now and that JARVIS operated it by voice command. He seemed to understand the layout of Steve's place, which was open plan and thus not that hard to figure out, but he stood by the couch with his hands at his sides and seemed to be waiting for something. 

"JARVIS, turn the game back on here, please?" Sam said and the television came to life. He looked over at Barnes, who'd turned sharply at the activity. "JARVIS also speaks baseball, so if you want stats or explanations, you can ask him, too. He just won't have as much an opinion about it." 

"With all due respect, Sergeant Wilson," JARVIS cut in. "I have the capacity to abhor the DH as much as you do." 

Sam could only laugh; Barnes looked at him like he had understood nothing. 

"Come on," Sam exhorted with a wave of his hand. "Let's go on the nickel tour Thor was too cheap to spring for." 

Sam walked toward the kitchen and pointed out the fridge, the stove controls, the dishwasher -- "You like that one, yeah?" -- and the garbage disposal, which Sam didn't think Steve had ever used. He opened the fridge to check the contents that nothing was off, sniffing the milk and then pouring it out. "Steve hadn't been home for a few days before he disappeared," he explained. "We'll get you some tomorrow." 

They went out into the dining room area and Sam showed him how to control the blinds, reminding him once again that if he didn't know how anything worked to ask JARVIS, and then back to the living room. He gestured toward the corner Steve had set aside as his office space, the desk with the laptop, the file cabinet and the printer Steve still didn't know how to change the ink cartridges for, but then went on to the things Barnes might actually use. "The record player you know how to use, but this button will turn on everything else," he instructed as he pointed to the stereo. "The books you can figure out on your own." 

He bypassed the shelf of framed photographs because they were all of people Barnes knew and would miss -- or of himself and wouldn't necessarily want to see. There was a photo of Steve and Peggy Carter and Sam wondered what Barnes thought of it; it wasn't hard to recognize her even at an advanced age. 

The second bedroom in Steve's place was a storage room, more or less. Steve had brought all of his art material up from DC but hadn't set up the drafting table yet and the easel was lying folded up against a wall. There was a bookcase full of notepads and another with coffee table books and catalogs and textbooks and models and whatever else Steve had acquired over the years -- he hadn't really spent his money on anything but books and records and art supplies -- and Barnes seemed to visibly relax here. Small wonder; it was familiar and low-tech, so very much a Steve place even only half unpacked. 

The Macy's bag was on the bed in Steve's bedroom, its contents in neat piles on the bed. "You'll be getting more clothes and a place to put them in shortly," Sam said. "Just pile them on the chair for now, I guess." 

He left Barnes in the living room by the couch, reminding him that JARVIS could contact any of them should it be necessary and that he was welcome to go back down to Steve whenever he wanted. 

There was a text message from Natasha that he'd felt buzzing in his pants earlier but hadn't checked until he'd gotten back to his own place. "Barnes is tucked in at Steve's," he said when he called her back. "I took that as a victory and didn't press on anything else."

The following morning at work was just as miserable as the previous day had been and Sam, faced with an afternoon of both a group session at Harbor and then casework in Brooklyn, debated with himself before pulling the Avengers card on the latter. His supervisor was more than willing to give him a break, especially because he knew that Sam was the Avengers' team medic and Captain America might need him, so he was done for the day and back at the Tower by two. 

Barnes was looking better rested -- Sam presumed he'd actually gotten some sleep last night instead of sitting night watch at Steve's bedside -- and was eating lunch with Thor up on the roof when Sam got back. Barnes was wearing an orange t-shirt with a picture of a deer head and #BUCKUP printed on it and a Mets logo on the bottom corner. 

"Whose whimsy is this?" Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow. Barnes might not know what a hashtag was, but he could get the joke regardless. 

"It was folded up next to the container of milk on the doorstep," Barnes answered with a shrug. 

Tony was sitting with Steve when Sam went down to check on him, working on his laptop with a tablet resting on Steve's bed by his left knee. 

"What's up, Doc?" Tony asked, not looking up. 

"Steve's numbers," Sam replied, scrolling through the history to see when the change had taken place. It had been gradual, it turned out, a slow climb instead of a sharp spike and then a new plateau. Behind him, Tony shifted the laptop to the side and stood up so that he could see the one Sam was working on before moving over to Steve. 

"Will he be awake by dinner?" Tony asked as he leaned forward, putting his face in Steve's for a moment before pulling back in case Steve really did wake up right then.

"Maybe," Sam allowed, "But I'd say breakfast tomorrow is a better bet."

Tony smiled at him, a genuine smile that was really very rare even within the tiny sphere of Tony Stark's Real Life. "I shall put all my money on it, then."

Sam snorted. "Pepper won't let you do that." 

"No," Tony agreed, faking crestfallen well, but then he perked up again. "But she has more faith in you than she does in me some days."

Barnes nearly leaped out of his seat when Sam went back upstairs to share the news, but Sam told him to finish his cheeseburger because Steve was waking up, but he wasn't anywhere close to awake. Barnes did go back downstairs after he'd eaten, however, followed by Thor. Sam went downstairs, too, but to his own apartment to get swim trunks and a towel because if he was going to play hooky from work on a hot summer day, he was going to make use of the ridiculously opulent amenities of where he lived. 

He'd finished his lap swim and was on one of the recliners with his headphones on and his eyes closed when he sensed someone watching him. 

"Barnes and I had a talk," Natasha said, sitting down on the adjacent recliner. "He gave me a little more on how they got here." 

He gave her more than that, Sam realized. Barnes hadn't spoken about his rescue save to say that it had been from the facility in Poland where they'd known he'd been until the Soviets took him in April 1945 and he skirted entirely around his own condition and what care he'd been given upon his return to his own people. But he did fill in what the Commandos had done after he'd come back, a history that was obviously true for him but not for anyone else. History had not changed, as Strange had suggested might happen, although he hadn't been too sure. (He'd just said that the ripples on the timeline were minute and not indicative of someone changing events, at least while he'd been holding the amulet.)

"Barnes was pretty shaken up about that, about having more false memories," Natasha said. "I told him that they weren't false, that they'd definitely happened just been undone by some greater power, but he didn't see that as a difference he could appreciate. I can't blame him. He said Steve would take it hard, too, to have Peggy and lose her again, to have saved him and then have that wiped out when his future self's dead."

Sam smiled at the idea of Steve being less of a scaredy-cat with Peggy Carter when given a second chance, but he nodded and sobered at Natasha's frown. She'd hinted at having some of her own memories messed with in the past, never going into detail. "Steve saved himself a Bucky Barnes and, in time, that will be enough for him." 

But before that time, it was going to be rough for both of them. Not being able to save the Winter Soldier was not a scar that would heal any time soon, even if that hadn't been a failure on Steve's part, merely a tragedy on its own. 

"I went into Steve's place yesterday and took away all of the Winter Soldier files," Natasha said. "I left a note saying I had them, but..." 

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Barnes was back at his usual post -- the chair next to Steve's bed -- when Sam went in to check in the early evening. Steve's breathing and pulse were still on their slow climb up to consciousness. Barnes was a little edgy and anxious and withdrawn; whether it had to do with Natasha's conversation or Steve's imminent waking, Sam didn't know but rather than press Barnes on it, he simply told him he'd be by to check on Steve later. He had the evening to himself, for the first time in what felt like forever, and he went out, walking down to Koreatown and having dinner at the tiny second-floor place Clint had shown him. When he got back, full of barbecue and kimchi, nothing had changed in Steve's room, right down to Barnes's position. 

"At least get up and stretch out," Sam told him, not looking up from where he was inputting the notes on the laptop. "Supersoldiers get stiff, too." 

He was a little hepped-up himself, he admitted in the privacy of his own apartment. It was like waiting for his sister to give birth the first time; her water had broken and then they all just waited and waited until his nephew felt like making his belated entrance into the world. Tomorrow, Steve would be awake, this Sam was sure of. And there would be a whole lot of work to be done there -- Sam debated taking off, but he only had a half-day this week -- and a whole lot of stress and more than a few tears. But it would be a glorious thing and he couldn't help but be excited at the anticipation of it. The week had started so strangely with dinosaurs and then had so quickly turned tragic with Steve's death. And then they'd been given magic beans to wish on and those wishes had somehow come true beyond their wildest aspirations. It had been a roller coaster ride and Sam was exhausted by it in a far different way than he'd been exhausted by work. 

He still managed to fall asleep because he was woken up by JARVIS at 0230 telling him that Steve was awake and in steady health. 

"Yeah?" Sam asked, tired but happy. He threw the covers off after a minute to get up and go down to the medical suite. 

"Sergeant, Ms. Potts has entered a note in the protocols for Captain Rogers's awakening that he not to be disturbed between the hours of 0100 and 0600. She has instructed that all notifications be delayed until the latter time save for yours, in your capacity as medical personnel."

Sam closed his eyes, even though he was sitting up. "All right, we'll play it her way. She's paying the rent and she's smarter than all of us. But if either Barnes or Rogers gets the slightest bit agitated, medical necessity is going to override her consideration for their reunion, capisce? I don't want you blocking entrance if they're about to throw down."

JARVIS assured him that he would do no such thing. 

"All right then," Sam agreed, dropping back against the pillows. "Good night, JARVIS." 

He might've fallen asleep with a smile on his face. 

**Author's Note:**

> I spend a lot of time on [Tumblr](http://laporcupina.tumblr.com/) now, if you're into that sort of thing.


End file.
